Greater Love
by Shellie Williams
Summary: Lost, hunted, and hurt in the woods, Tony and McGee must depend on each other to make it through.
1. Chapter 1

**Greater Love**

Shellie Williams

_Greater love hath no man that this, that a man lay down his life for his friend. John 15:13_

**A/N:** I found inspiration in a Sentinel story, _The Kindness of Strangers_, by Mackie and hephaistos, written for the virtual Season. It is a highly entertaining and well-written story that I recommend, even if you are not familiar with the characters or places of The Sentinel.

**Warning:** Violence and mayhem ahead, and very little plot to get in the way. Let me also mention that I am not in any shape or form a doctor. I did some research, but most of this is made up. Please don't feel obligated to inform me of any medical impossibilities and mistakes.

**Rating:** T due to serious injury and some coarse language.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters or places of NCIS.

**Summary: **Lost, hunted, and hurt in the woods, Tony and McGee must depend on each other to make it through.

**Part 1**

Silence. It was as if the world had stopped. McGee lay on his back, looking up through dappled sunlight through gossamer leaves. So beautiful. Splashes of blue between branches bragged of a robin egg sky. A bird flew by high overhead, sharp detail blurring into water color black. He blinked. Double images slowly slid back into one; transparent figures lining up into focus.

What had he been doing? A quick mental search revealed nothing, and quiet alarm began a staccato beat in his chest when awareness slowly grew, and he realized he was on the ground.

_What the -?_ Muscles tightened through his body as he shifted his legs. Instant pain exploded bright as a nova through his belly. Darkness swooped down and clutched him in talons of sharp agony. Awareness fled; sight and sound faded. He floated in a fathomless sea of black, weightless.

After a time, sound inched close and whispered in his ear. The soothing and relaxing chirps of birds and softly vibrating song of crickets woke him. He found himself on his side, his arms wrapped around himself. Black night and come and stolen away the sun's light. The close up view of blades of grass had him blinking his eyes. Remembered pain held him still. Slow breathing pulled in and out through his lungs, and the lullaby of nature lulled him back to sleep.

He woke up again that night, his body cold and stiff. Something had startled him and he lay unmoving, trying to hear it again. There: rustling leaves and loud, snuffling breaths. An unseen animal passed by, close enough to smell, but he didn't see it. He held still, waiting for discovery, but nothing happened. After a few minutes, weariness pulled him under again; he didn't even realize it when his eyes closed.

Bright shafts of sunlight woke him the next morning, and clarity rushed through his brain with frightening speed: driving with Tony to a small farming community nearly five hours away, questioning witness in the brutal murder of Petty Officer Jefferson, eating a quick lunch at the local café and noticing the less than friendly looks from three grizzly flannel-clad backwoodsmen, beginning the drive back, the feeling they were being followed, and the blow out just as they were passing over a short, rail-less bridge spanning a deep ravine.

"Tony!" The shout brought him upright in a flurry of pain and panic. Bracing his arm against his body, McGee rode out the wave of pain that threatened to crash over him. Red-tinged darkness tried to intrude, but he pushed it back. Rolling to his knees, he managed to make it to his feet, gasping and groaning.

The car lay not ten feet away, crumpled and bent, wrapped halfway around a huge tree. Stumbling, trying not to fall, McGee moved as quickly as he could to the driver's side. Tony was there, sitting behind the wheel with his eyes closed. An open gash high across his forehead sprouted a sickeningly gory trail of blood. McGee noted with some relief that it was no longer bleeding. _Dead men don't bleed._ The thought twisted relief into grief. He took a breath, then pressed his fingers against Tony's throat. For a moment, he felt nothing, then a faint beat vibrated against his touch. His held breath exhaled in a huge rush. McGee fell to his knees beside the car, weak with relief.

Nothing mattered; not his pain, not the fact that he had no idea where they were, or that they were five hours from Washington; all that mattered was that Tony was alive. It was up to Tim to keep him that way. With more grit and determination than he'd ever felt before, McGee pulled himself to his feet and got to work.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

He grasped the handle and tried to open the door. It wouldn't budge. He knew he'd have to pull Tony out through the window. All of the glass had shattered during the accident, so at least that was taken care of. Leaning through the opening, ignoring the burning pain that had quieted down to a dull ache in his stomach, Tim unlatched Tony's seatbelt. Tucking his arms under Tony's armpits, Tim locked his hands behind Tony and pulled. Sharp jabs of pain shot through his belly. He grit his teeth, locked his feet, and pulled harder. Tony folded out of the car, then dropped like a sack of potatoes on top of McGee. McGee held still, his heavy breathing laced with groans. Tony's breaths tickled his neck. Finally, he pushed Tony to the side and rolled to his knees.

He needed a plan. A quick search through both their pockets yielded no phones; they must have been lost in the crash. The weather was warm; humid. At least they didn't have to worry about suffering through cold. Food. The ache in his belly seemed to be pushing away the need for food, at least for now. They could do without food for awhile, but finding water was absolutely essential. Shelter. The car would do for a temporary shelter, but they needed to find help and get both of them to the hospital. He pressed his palm against his abdomen, mindful of the twisting ache there. DiNozzo had a head injury, obviously, but there was a possibility he had other injuries.

A groan raised the hairs on the back of McGee's neck. He turned. Tony shifted on the ground. Tim scrambled back to his side.

"Tony? Hold still - you're hurt."

"McGee? Wha - happen?"

"We had an accident. Open your eyes. Look at me." Gently, Tim grasped Tony's face. "Look at me, Tony."

Tony's eyes fluttered, then opened. Tim noted with relief that his pupils were equal in size.

"Head - hurts."

Tim shifted one hand to Tony's injury and brushed it lightly with his thumb. He froze when Tony sucked in a breath. "Sorry. Does anything else hurt?"

"M - leg."

Tim shifted to check it out but Tony moaned and he moved back to look at his face. "Tony?" When Tony didn't answer, Tim gently patted one check. "Tony, you with me?" Silence was his only answer. Checking his pulse and finding it steady, Tim moved to check for other injuries. A painful twist in his gut folded him double for a minute. When the pain faded and he caught his breath, he began checking Tony over. McGee had no idea what a broken bone would feel like, but he gently searched anyway, figuring he'd know it if he found a major injury. He barely touched Tony's leg just below the knee, but got an instant reaction: Tony woke up with a yell.

McGee grabbed for Tony when he sat up suddenly. "Easy, easy, Tony!"

Tony sank back to his elbows on the ground.

Carefully, McGee shifted back to Tony's leg and checked it out as best he could without touching. Something had cut through both the material and Tony's leg, leaving a deep gash behind. While it looked deep, he didn't think it went clear to the bone. McGee leaned back and rested on his haunches. "I don't think it's broken, but there's a bad cut we need to bind up with something."

"I'll just get the first aid kit and we'll fix it right up." Sarcasm laced Tony's voice. He sighed deeply and wiped a hand across his face. "No phone, no medical assistance, no car – could it get any worse?"

A deep rumble sounded in the distance, like the sky clearing its throat. McGee looked up and noticed, for the first time, clouds darkening and gathering near. "You had to ask, didn't you?" Shaking his head, Tim began pulling his shirttail out.

"What are you doing?"

"Using the only thing I have to make a bandage for you."

"You don't have to -"

"You're bleeding, Tony." He continued as Tony reached to touch his head. "Besides, if it makes you feel any better, I'll let you buy me a new shirt once we get back to D.C."

"Gee, thanks."

Tim succeeded in pulling his shirt out. He tugged it to his mouth, clenched the material in his teeth, and ripped a strip off his shirt. The simple movements left him breathless and weary. The familiar twist in his gut shortened his breath, but he kept his breathing as steady as possible so as not to alert Tony to his problem. Finally, armed with several strips of material, he created a small pad and secured that to Tony's wound with the other longer pieces. Satisfied, he sat back to study his work. Maybe not as neat as he'd like, and not as professional as something Ducky would do, but still, it would suffice.

"Ready to see if you can stand?" McGee waited until Tony nodded, then slipped his arm around him and pulled while Tony struggled to his feet. Thunder rumbled again in the distance as they stood. Pausing a moment while each caught their breath, they finally straightened up. McGee pointed upward. "It's too steep to try and make it back the way we came. Let's follow this ravine a ways and see if it takes us closer to the road."

Tony just waved a hand at him, still focused on catching his breath. Tim took a step and Tony took one with him. After a few faltering feet, they found a rhythm and made steady progress. When it became clear that the ravine angled deeper into the trees, McGee altered their course and started them slowly up the incline back to the road. He imagined it had taken the car a matter of seconds to leave the road and tumble down to the bottom of the ravine, but estimated it would take he and Tony nearly an hour to make it back. He hooked a finger in his tie, loosened it, then pulled it off. He thought of dropping it, but decided it might become useful later, so he wadded it up one-handed and stuffed it into his pocket. He reached for Tony's tie to do the same.

"What -?" Tony lifted his hand toward his neck before he realized what Tim was doing. "Oh. Thanks." He hadn't realized how uncomfortable he'd been until Tim loosened the tie and slid it off. But when Tim began crumpling it up, he protested. "Hey! That tie cost three- too much for you to wrinkle it like that. Give it here." Tony stopped and released his hold on Tim so he could use both hands to neatly fold the tie and stuff it into his pocket.

McGee shook his head. "Why do you -" The sound of a vehicle snapped his attention to the road. He hadn't realized they were this close. "Stay here. I'll be right back." His pain forgotten, Tim scrambled up the rest of the embankment to the road. His feet slid out from under him and he ended up on his knees, hidden in the underbrush. Determined to be seen, he lifted one arm and prepared to shout, but ducked back into cover as soon as he recognized the SUV rounding the curve toward him. Snatches of memory flashed through his mind. The SUV was the same vehicle that had followed them out of Sutton Town in West Virginia. It drove slowly with the windows down. Fear tingled across McGee's scalp. He sunk low out of sight and watched it drive by. The men's faces were clear to him as they passed within yards of his hiding place. Again, memories rose to the surface, superimposing themselves upon Tim's vision - these were the rough-looking men who hadn't been at all pleased with the NCIS Agents' line of questioning.

The vehicle kept moving. There was no doubt in Tim's mind what they were looking for: he and Tony. It was just a matter of time before they found the place where their car had left the road, then they'd be on their trail. They had no phones and no weapons. They needed to get out of there and find help. Now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3**

Twisting around to return to Tony, stabbing agony ambushed him and darkness closed in. He blinked to find himself on the ground, folded double, arms wrapped around his body. Someone called to him, a frantic edge to his voice. _Tony._ Unnerved with the similarity to waking up after the crash, McGee sat up slowly. He took a breath and found his voice. "I'm coming, Tony. Hold on!" Gathering his strength, prepared to face pain when he moved, McGee grit his teeth together and stood. He swayed for an instant, hands braced on his knees, riding out the cramping pain in his gut. He didn't have time for this. Straightening, he walked on wobbly knees back to Tony.

"Well?" Tony stood leaning against a tree, hope on his face. "Did they stop?"

McGee shook his head. Breathless, he sagged against another tree. "No, they didn't. It was the men from the café, Tony. You called them backwoodsmen, remember? Everyone dressed in flannel and denim, heavy beards, looking as if they chewed on bear for dessert?"

Tony let out a breath and slumped against the tree. "They ran us off the road, didn't they?"

"No, they didn't run us off. We had a blowout. But judging from their expressions with our questioning, they either had something to do with Petty Officer Jefferson's murder, or they know who did. I think they're looking for us, and it's only a matter of time before they find the car. So -"

"We need to put as much distance between it and us as possible. Let's go, Probie. We need to get out of here."

They didn't discuss their options, or talk about how very little they had between them. Tony knew there were no phones, or they would have tried them by now. He knew about the absence of weapons, too. No need to discuss the obvious. The very real knowledge that those men were out to do them harm created an urgency to escape, and despite their various aches and pains, they began to make real progress as they ventured deeper into the woods. Thunder rumbled closer and the wind began to pick up.

Splattering drops of rain hit them about ten minutes later. It was oddly refreshing; after their brief hike through the woods, sweat had beaded and was beginning to run down the side of Tim's face. When thunder cracked so close that static electricity raised the hairs on his arm, Tim ducked instinctively but continued walking.

"Don't they tell you not to stand under a tree in a lightning storm?" Huffing, one arm thrown across Tim's shoulders, Tony kept up a limping but steady pace.

Too winded to comment, Tim merely nodded and answered, "Yeah."

"So, what do you do when you can't _help_ but stand under a tree?"

McGee shrugged. He stopped, released Tony, and caught himself against a tree. Holding his arm tight across his stomach, he fought to catch his breath.

"Why are you breathing like that?"

Tim cut his eyes at Tony, an incredulous expression lifting his eyebrows. "Like what?" Unnoticed, he began to rub his hand across his abdomen.

"All heavy and loud, like you've been running a marathon."

Looking as if he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, McGee pushed away from the tree. "You're breathing hard, too." He pulled Tony's arm back over his shoulders and they continued walking.

"No I'm not. Not like you are."

Any retort McGee might have made was drowned out by a sudden downpour. Within moments, they were both drenched. Flashes of lightning had them both ducking their heads. McGee was about to suggest they find some type of shelter, when he heard what sounded like a man's voice. Immediately, he pushed Tony against a tree and drew close.

"I hear someone. Listen."

Seconds passed with only the sound of pounding rain and rumbling thunder. Then, in the distance, they both heard a man shout. Tim squinted, trying to see through the gray sheet of water pouring endlessly down on them. He caught the briefest glimpse of color, but it was enough to send warning signals through his brain. A quick visual search revealed a huge fallen tree just a few feet away. Pushing Tony toward it, praying he wouldn't ask questions, McGee gasped, keeping his voice low, "Go, go, go! Get under the tree!"

Tony must have sensed his urgency. Rather than questioning, he immediately followed McGee's instructions and dove for the shelter. Tim dropped to the ground and rolled in after Tony. A slight depression had developed beneath the fallen tree. That and tall, overgrown grasses and bushes helped shield them from view.

Tony gripped his shoulder and pulled him in deeper. "What did you see?" His voice whispered almost too soft to hear. Before he could answer, two men came into view, walking toward them. They were two of the three men Tim had seen watching them with unfriendly expressions at the café. Fearing they'd been discovered, Tim shrank back against Tony. The grip around his shoulder tightened. A cramp twisted his insides. Tim curled in tight, fighting the cry that swelled his lungs. He turned his face toward the ground, hoping the earth would muffle any noises he might make. The pain finally released him, and he melted weak and sick against the ground.

They held still there until water began to puddle beneath them. Tim lay frozen, afraid of reawakening his pain; afraid it would grow into an agony he could not control. When Tony leaned over his shoulder to whisper into his ear, he flinched in surprise, so focused on keeping still.

"I think they're gone."

Nodding silently, Tim began slowly to work his way out. When he'd made it far enough out of the way, Tony pushed past him and stood up. He reached out a hand and helped McGee the rest of the way up. Tim wasn't ready to straighten up; he braced his hands on his knees. Rain spattered on the back of his head.

"What's wrong with you?" Worry tightened a voice already raw with stress.

Surprised and troubled with the guilty feeling that he'd put that stress there, Tim slowly straightened. "Nothing."

Tony reached for his arm. "Tim -"

McGee backed away, unsure how well he could mask his pain. "I'm just sore, Tony. I _was_ thrown from a car today, you know." He pretended not to notice when Tony withdrew his hand, but couldn't ignore the sharp stab of regret that shot through him. It wasn't often Tony was this transparent with his friendship. Tim regretted not being able to take advantage of the moment.

"Well, good, then." A quirky half smile lifted one corner of Tony's mouth as he tried unsuccessfully to wipe rain out of his eyes. "Because with this bum leg, I'm depending on you to get me out of here." He pointed with his head toward the two men who'd walked past them. "We know which way they're headed. Let's turn around and head back for the road and find some help."

But McGee shook his head. "There were only two of them. I bet the third one's still with the vehicle, and he's probably armed. When they don't find us, they may radio back to him to join them. Then we'd be caught in the middle."

Tony looked back over his shoulder, then back at McGee. "You may be right. So, which way do we go?"

He pointed east. "Deeper. If I'm remembering the map I saw of this area correctly, there were some houses in a small community farther east. If we're where I _think_ we are, we should come across another road, too."

"Let's get going." Tony reached for McGee.

Sighing, Tim grabbed Tony's arm, slung it over his shoulders, and lead the way farther into the trees. The rain had not slacked off. Dark thunderclouds gathered overhead, roiling and building on top of one another. Lightning cracked far and then near, playing with the storm.


	4. Chapter 4

**Part 4**

Heads down, shoulders slumped, they hiked through the woods as quickly as possible. Tim's breathing deepened, and with each intake of breath, a sharp, uncomfortable pain stabbed under his ribs deep into his belly. The instinct to hold that pain snatched at him. It was a relief when Tony slowly pulled away from him and began walking on his own. Sliding his hand through his jacket, McGee pressed his palm to his abdomen. His body hurt, and the very frightening belief that he might be badly injured created strange and wild thoughts that screamed and scattered through his head. Could he convince Tony to leave him? He began composing arguments, listing all the reasons why Tony should keep going, go find help, and come back for him. His feet grew heavier and heavier; he expected each second that his knees would buckle and send him to the ground. When it finally happened, he didn't even notice that he'd stopped.

"McGee!"

Tim lifted his head. Rain fell ceaselessly, endlessly, shooting like little gray arrows out of the sky. Someone gripped his shoulder.

"Tim!"

Tony knelt beside him. Strength dissipated and he melted weakly against his friend. He watched in silence as alarm lifted Tony's eyebrows nearly to his hairline. Tony grasped his shoulders and held him steady, keeping him from falling.

"Tim, what's wrong?" Tim shook his head but Tony's grip tightened painfully. His head lolled bonelessly on his neck when Tony shook him and shouted; angry words spitting out of his mouth. "Don't lie to me! What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

Weary with pain, Tim slumped against Tony. Strong arms wrapped around him. Lifting his chin, he whispered tremulously against Tony's throat. "You need to keep going."

The side of a tree next to them seemed to explode. Unable to make sense of what was happening, Tim watched Tony pull away and twist suddenly to look behind them. Then, in a move that left him gasping for breath, Tony pulled him to his feet, wrapped an arm around his waist, and began running. "They're shooting at us, McGee - for god's sake - _run!_"

The ground blurred beneath their feet. Rain pelted their faces, bushes and branches tore at their clothes. Abruptly, they were falling, tumbling down an incline. Tim rolled to a stop. Agony made everything hurt and jumbled his senses until he couldn't tell up from down. Dizzy and sick, he pushed himself from the ground. _Tony._ There! Like him, Tony seemed disoriented from the fall. A roaring sound sang through his head and Tim figured he had a concussion to add to his other worries. Tony stood and reached for him. He yelled something, but the roar had grown into a white noise that sucked everything into it, and Tim couldn't hear him.

Tony pulled at him, dragging him up the other side of the ravine they'd fallen into. His legs didn't want to cooperate; his knees felt as if they belonged to someone else. Air seemed determined not to come near him, no matter how hard he sucked it into his lungs. The noise was everywhere, crowding out everything else. They made it to the top and collapsed. McGee lay on his stomach, battling to breath. Rain pounded against him, pouring like a huge reservoir empting out onto his back. Slowly, he rolled to his side and discovered, that wasn't rain pelting against him; it was the splash of waves as a flashflood filled the ravine and thundered past. On the other side, their three pursers stood still, watching. When it became obvious they could not cross, they turned slowly and walked away, but not before one lifted his arm and pointed at them. The message was clear: they weren't giving up. They'd find a way around the creek and come after them.

"We gotta get out of here." Breathless, Tony pulled at McGee's shoulder. "They're circling around and coming after us, McGee. We've got to keep going."

"I - I can't."

"Yes, you can. Even if I have to carry you." Tony hooked under his arms and pulled him to his feet, then turned him to face him. "Next time I ask you if you're all right, tell me the truth." Not waiting for an answer, he wrapped his arm around McGee and they started back into the trees.


	5. Chapter 5

**Part 5**

Night arrived, and still the rain fell. Tony had discarded his jacket and stopped long enough to help McGee pull his off, long ago. He'd slowed his steps, hoping to keep McGee on his feet as long as possible. He figured he could carry Tim for awhile, but not long enough to make a difference. Besides, the only way he'd be able to handle it would be to use a fireman's carry, and with a potential abdominal injury, that wouldn't be feasible.

He looked down and saw that Tim held his hand protectively over his belly. There was no blood; that meant probably an internal injury. How many hours had it been since the accident? No doubt with an injury like McGee probably had, he should have been kept still and quiet until medical assistance could be found. Instead, Tim had pulled him from the car, given him support to lean on, and had run and fallen and run again for the past several hours. What those movements were doing to his insides was not good. The longer they went without finding help and getting Tim to a hospital, the less his chances were of - _no! stop it!_ It did no good to have negative thoughts like that.

Tim pulled in a quick breath. He turned his face away as if trying to hide his discomfort, but with their bodies pressed together, even if he hadn't heard his moan, Tony could feel the vibrations through his side. Before he could catch him, Tim's knees buckled and he went down, sliding out of Tony's arms. Tony knelt beside him, pulled him up, and held him. Tim trembled. His forehead, pressed against the side of Tony's throat, radiated warmth. Tony closed his eyes for a moment to escape the rain, nearly overcome with defeat. The very real fear of his friend dying in his arms squeezed his heart with pain. He blinked his eyes open, hoping to know what to say.

In the distance, a tiny light winked at him. He squinted in disbelief, wondering if his mind was playing a cruel joke on him. Wind bent and played with the branches of distant trees, playing hide and seek with the light. Just as he was about to give up, there it was again: a light. Hope rose painfully quick in his chest. Tony swallowed, gathered Tim close, and stood. "We're almost there, Tim. Hang on for me, we're almost there."

Stumbling, holding onto Tim, Tony pushed forward. For a long time it seemed as if the light didn't move any closer. Then finally, through the trees, he saw a dark, vague outline. A huge old country home revealed itself through the rain and darkness. A worn picket fence lined the perimeter of a front yard. The gate in the middle stood open, inviting them in. The mailbox beside the muddy dirt road read 'Stanley, V.' And beside it, discolored wood showed the weathered outline of two other letters that used to be there: M.D. His heart in his throat, Tony staggered to the front door. Leaning against the frame, Tim tucked close to his side, he pounded on the door.


	6. Chapter 6

**Part 6**

Vernon Stanley awoke to incessant pounding. Disbelief held him frozen in bed for several moments, then reality grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. Anger bubbled in his chest. Jerking the covers off, he sat up and planted his feet on the floor, then reached for his glasses on the bedside table. "I told you to leave me alone! Didn't you listen to one word I said?" Grumbling, sliding both feet into his slippers, then standing to pull on his robe, he shuffled out of his room and down the dark hall.

"Young upstart thinks he can come in here and take over everything." Vern waved one hand through the air, punctuating his remarks, and kept a careful grip on the stair railing with the other hand. "Town wants to get rid of me? Wants to put me out to pasture – to _hell_ with them! Not like I cared about any of those worthless, no-good, always-complaining, never healthy vermin, anyway!"

He arrived at the landing and turned carefully to make his way down the second set of stairs. The storm had taken out the power hours ago. He had a generator in the barn, but the temperature had dropped since the rain started, dissipating the heat and leaving behind a pleasant, though moist, atmosphere, so he hadn't cranked it up yet.

The pounding grew louder. "Shut up, you crazy fool! Can't you see I'm moving as fast as I can? Gets so a man can't have any peace around here, anymore. Used to be a fellow could go a month without folks turning up at his front door, now it's Grand Central Station around here, dammit."

Reaching the main floor, he walked toward the front door, but on second thought, detoured for a flashlight he kept in a drawer just inside the living room. He realized he'd neglected to turn off the battery-powered lantern burning in front of one of the long windows on either side of the door. Angry with his forgetfulness, he snapped it off. He could hear the pounding rain and the sudden question of why in the world Travis Mansfield would be calling on him in the middle of a storm struck him as odd. He turned on the flashlight. The powerful white beam pierced through the gauzy curtains, illuminating two figures huddled by his door; neither form looked familiar. Granted, his eyes weren't as sharp as they used to be, but recognition did not register, and he instantly became suspicious.

Tucking the flashlight under his arm, he turned for the living room and reached for the shotgun he kept over the fireplace. A quick check of the condition (he cleaned it every Saturday), then he dropped two shells into the double barrels. Feeling a little more confident, he hurried back to the door. The pounding had remained steady.

"Who is it? Speak plain - I've got a shotgun."

The pounding stopped. Silence reigned for a heavy minute, then a tired, hoarse voice strained through the wood and glass. "I'm a Federal Agent, sir. My partner's injured; we need your help."

Not what he expected. Deciding to err on the side of caution, Vernon reached and turned the lock, then stepped away from the door. "It's open. Come in. Slow, so I can see you." Keeping his eyes on the door, he managed to aim the flashlight while maintaining his grip on his weapon.

The knob turned slowly, then the door opened wide, revealing two men. Vernon immediately propped his gun against the wall, jammed his flashlight into his pocket, and hurried to assist. One man, pale, soaked with rain, barely on his feet, had his arm wrapped around his partner. He staggered beneath the added weight and groaned as Vernon transferred most of the other man's weight onto his own shoulders and lead them into the living room. The second man didn't even seem to be aware he was walking. His head hung low between his shoulders, both arms dangling limp at his sides. Vernon helped turn and aim him toward the couch. He dropped boneless and fell back, but the first man caught him and eased him sideways onto the cushions. When he had his partner settled, he turned to Vernon.

"I appreciate your trust." Weariness sat heavy on him. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, breathing deep, but Vernon noticed he kept his hand on his partner's chest. "He's hurt. I need your help."

Instinct kicked in. Huffing at his own inaction, Vernon stood quickly. He grabbed the throw off the back of the couch and shoved it at the man. "First, we need to get you out of those clothes. Pull off his wet things and get this afghan around him. I'll find something else upstairs; I've got plenty. Stay here - I'll be right back."

Shutting the front door, he turned and hurried for the stairs. Behind him, he heard the man's voice, talking low and gentle to his partner. Taking just a moment to trade his pajamas and robe for jeans and a shirt, it took him only a matter of minutes to run through the extra rooms and pull out some dry clothes. Then back down the stairs and into the living room.

The man on the couch lay ensconced in the colorful afghan Effie had knit. He smiled, knowing she'd be pleased it had played a role in aiding someone. A pile of wet clothes lay beside the couch. Vernon handed the man the dry bundle in his arms, then bent to pick up the wet things and bring them into the washroom. He waved the man's apology aside, hurrying to take care of things that needed to be done, so he could move on to more important matters.

"I expect you're both tired to the bone. I've got some leftover soup I can warm up lickity split. Power's out, but the stove's gas, so there's no problem there. I got a generator in the barn we can crank up if we need it." Dumping the soup in a big pan and turning the flame to low, he returned to the men. "I'm Vernon Stanley, by the way. Most folks call me Vern. You can call me what you want."

His oldest son's warm-ups looked comical on the stranger. Vernon frowned to hide his smile and nodded. "Looks like that fits just fine." Crossing his arms, he moved to stand closer. "Want to tell me how you two came to get lost in the woods?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Part 7**

The man shook his head. He ran his hand through his wet hair and sat down on the edge of the couch beside his partner. "We're not lost; not exactly. I'm Special Agent DiNozzo. My partner's Special Agent McGee. We're NCIS from Washington."

"NCIS?"

"Naval Criminal Investigative Service." DiNozzo scooted to the edge of the couch and hunched forward, his eyes narrowing with intensity. "I saw your mailbox - the M.D. Are you a doctor? McGee's hurt."

Shock froze words in his throat. He dropped his arms to his sides and moved a step closer. "A doctor? - Well, I - " Flustered with the unexpected request, Vernon hid behind his gruffness and roughly moved DiNozzo aside. "Let me look at him." DiNozzo stood out of his way.

Grasping the edges of the afghan, Vernon pulled it open. "What happened to you - oh -" Redness and light bruising discolored the skin along the left side of McGee's belly and flank. While it wasn't the worse he'd seen, it was bad enough. Eyes glued to McGee, Vernon probed gently. Fingers bent and gnarled with age exhibited surprising agility and tenderness. He murmured quiet reassurances when McGee groaned softly and tensed beneath his touch. Standing, he leaned over McGee to check his breathing and pulse. McGee watched through half-lidded eyes as Vernon pressed gently into his carotid artery.

When DiNozzo bumped gently into him, he snarled, "Go get my bag and stethoscope. They're in the office to the left of the front door. Look behind my desk." Footsteps hurried away, then returned just as quickly. He took the bag and placed it on the floor, then put the stethoscope in his ears and checked McGee's heartbeat. He had a weak pulse and his skin felt cool and clammy. He moved to McGee's abdomen and held still, listening for two minutes with the stethoscope pressed firmly against his body. Satisfied, he stood and removed the instrument from his ears.

DiNozzo took his place on the couch. He carefully tucked the afghan closed, then looked at Vernon. "We were in an accident. We had a blowout and went off the road. I lost consciousness. When I woke up, McGee had pulled me out of the car."

Vernon reached to touch the closed cut on DiNozzo's forehead. He moved to a nearby chair as DiNozzo continued.

"We'd been in Sutton Town, questioning witnesses about Petty Officer – about Phillip Jefferson's murder."

"I heard about that. Folks around here in Braxton County believe Henry Michaels' boy did the killing. He and those two lumberjacks who follow him around like lap dogs. Stuart Michaels was jealous of Phillip from the day he was born."

DiNozzo nodded. "That's the conclusion we were coming to, too. They followed us out of town. After our accident -"

"I wouldn't put it past those three to fix your car to arrange that little accident of yours."

" - We were trying to get back to the road. That's when McGee spotted Michaels and his cronies looking for us, and we figured we'd better find a different route. They shot at us, but we got separated by a flashflood and managed to get away. They probably circled around and may be heading this way. Do you have a phone?"

Vernon shook his head and signed. "Storm took the lines down. There's too much interference in these hills and trees to get a good cell signal, not that I have a cell phone, anyway."

"What about a car?"

"You're welcome to it, but the roads are out, too. The flashflood that separated you from Michaels probably took out the bridge, and that's the only way back to town." He stood and motioned for DiNozzo to follow him into the kitchen. Once there, he turned down the bubbling soup and turned to face the worried man. "Your friend needs surgery."

"What? How?"

Vernon held up his hands. "I don't know what or how, but he needs it. Looks like he has some internal bleeding. How long's it been since the wreck?"

DiNozzo's eyes shifted back and forth as he thought back over the day. "With the time we were both unconscious, I'd say at least twenty-four hours, maybe a little more."

"If he's gotten this far and hasn't slipped into a coma, chances are the bleeding isn't severe. But with that bruising over his belly and flank, there's bound to be some tearing to his spleen. He needs a hospital and a doctor."

"You're a doctor!" Desperation sharpened DiNozzo's voice, and it cut through Vernon like a knife.

He pushed away and stirred absently at the soup. "I haven't practiced medicine in nearly ten years. The most surgery I can do is removing a splinter." A hand gripped his shoulder and spun him back around.

"He'll _die_ without your help."

"I can't, don't you understand?" He lifted his hands between them, displaying the frozen claws his fingers had become. "Arthritis has a hold on me and there's nothing I can do about it." Vernon dropped his arms, disgust coloring his words. "Besides, the town's already forced me into retirement. They knew I was washed up, even if I didn't."

"Then I'll do it. You tell me what to do."

Incredulous laughter huffed unexpectedly out of Vernon's mouth. "Boy, I don't have the first thing we need for an operation." He lifted his arm and pointed in the general direction of his office. "Antiques and outdated medicine is all you'll find on my shelves. Besides, we'd more likely kill him than help him."

DiNozzo's mouth opened to argue, and Vernon realized with dread that the young man wouldn't give up. A loud knock at his front door halted the discussion. DiNozzo stared at him. "Are you expecting company?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Part 8**

Vernon shook his head. Tony turned and headed for the shotgun he'd seen Vernon prop near the front door. His heart raced and his head hurt. The injustice of making it this far and finding a doctor, albeit a washed-up, arthritis-twisted, bitter old doctor, but still, someone who could help McGee, only to be felled by the men chasing them, was too unfair to consider. A fierce determination to get rid of this threat so something could be done to save Tim rose in him. He grabbed the gun and backed up against the nearest wall.

Vernon hurried toward the door, but Tony stopped him with a hand to his chest. "Call out and see who it is."

Nodding, the old doctor cleared his throat and swallowed hard. "Who's there?"

"It's me, you old coot - open up before I float away!"

The immediate frown and snarl that curled Vernon's lip convinced Tony that whoever stood on the other side of that door may not have been Michaels and his men, but they sure weren't friends of the Doc, either. Vernon pushed Tony's hand away and stomped to the door. He slung it open, snapping out his greeting: "What the hell do you want?"

"I was making my rounds and got stuck in the mud, so I came to check on you, you ungrateful old man." The new arrival pushed forward, but his gaze drifted to Tony and his gun and he froze, one hand on Vernon's shoulder.

Tony lowered the barrel, but didn't put the gun down. There were too many surprises happening and his nerves were strung too tight. The feeling that kept stabbing at him to keep alert and guard McGee wouldn't let him go.

"Vernon? Are you all right?" Eyes wide with undisguised fear, the tall, bespectacled young man still hadn't moved from his position just inside the door.

"Of course I'm fine, Mansfield. I don't need anyone checking on me - certainly not some still wet behind the ears kid who doesn't know the difference between peritoneum and perineum."

Tony took a step toward them. He noticed that Mansfield flinched, but didn't back away. "I'm a Federal Agent. My partner and I were involved in an accident and we found Dr. Stanley -"

"What accident?" Fear melted away and concern took its place. Mansfield stepped into the entranceway and shut the door behind him. He seemed to notice the cut on Tony's head for the first time. "Are you hurt? Let me look at that laceration - I'm a doctor."

Tony brushed his hand aside but reached instead for his elbow. "I'm fine, but my partner - if you wouldn't mind taking a look at him."

Mansfield glanced into the living room. He turned briefly to glare at Vernon before removing his slicker and tossing it near the front door. "Why didn't you tell me a man was hurt, Vernon?" He hurried to the couch and sat carefully on the edge. Tony followed him. Vernon ignored them both and left for the kitchen.

A pink flush dusted McGee's cheeks. Sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip. Tony sagged against the couch, watching. When Dr. Mansfield pulled the afghan open, Tim's head turned toward him and his eyes opened. Mansfield smiled reassuringly at him. "It's okay - I'm a doctor. I'm just going to take a look here." He placed both palms against McGee's abdomen, one on top of the other. Palpating gently, he worked across Tim's body, moving from the apparently uninjured area, to the discoloring bruises. Tim's eyes closed and his head rolled away, as if he were trying to escape his pain. He moaned and his body tensed. One hand lifted and Tony caught it, holding on as Tim's fingers tightened and clutched around his hand. The doctor finished his exam. He caught Tony's eye, lips rolled in tight against his lips, then stood and left to join Vernon in the kitchen. Their voices immediately began a terse conversation, but Tony didn't try to hear them. Instead, still grasping Tim's hand, he shifted around the corner and sat on the edge of the couch.

"Hey, Probie, how you doing?" Tony smiled when Tim opened his eyes and turned to look at him.

Weakness watered down Tim's voice to a whisper. " - been better -"

"Yeah, we've certainly had better days, haven't we? But it could be worse – " Tony made a show of thinking for a second, then shook his head. "No, actually, I don't think it could be worse. Being stuck here with Gonzo Gates and Marcus Welby, M.D. is bad enough."

His humor was lost on McGee. Tim's eyes closed briefly as he swallowed hard, then he blinked them open and squinted at Tony. " - you need to - go find help - not safe - don't stay here -"

"I'm not leaving you, McGee. And that's final."

McGee abruptly curled off the couch; his teeth snapped together as he groaned in pain. Alarmed, Tony slid off the couch to his knees and caught McGee against his chest. He slipped his arm under Tim, supporting him. McGee trembled against him, body locked in a rigid curl of pain. As suddenly as it hit, it released him and he collapsed, breathless, in Tony's arms. Slowly, carefully, Tony lowered him back to the cushions. He waited a moment, watching Tim breath. Helplessness pushed at him until he wanted to scream. He walked quickly into the kitchen.

"We've got to do something - he's getting worse." Both men stared at him. The feeling that a decision had been made sat heavy in the air. Tony turned to Mansfield. "So? What are you going to do?"

Mansfield looked at Vernon. As if he'd received a signal, he straightened from where he'd been slouched against the counter. Pushing his glasses up with one finger, he seemed to gather his courage. "We operate."


	9. Chapter 9

**Part 9**

Tony pulled in a deep breath and let it out slow. "Tell me what to do."

Mansfield pushed away from the counter and brought his hands together. For a moment, Tony was struck with how much the young man looked like a taller, lankier, Palmer.

"I have some things in my truck we can use. It shouldn't take me long to -"

"No." Tony and Mansfield looked in surprise at Vernon when he interrupted. "I'll go." He left for the front door, Mansfield trailing behind.

"You don't know where the truck is."

"You can give me directions. I figure you're somewhere between here and the Hicks' - right?"

The two men ended up face to face at the front door. Vernon grabbed Mansfield's slicker and shrugged into it. Mansfield still argued. "It's at least a mile, Vern - you can't -"

"Oh yes, I can. I was traipsing through these woods when your daddy was still in his diapers sitting on your granddaddy's knee. I know my way around these trees, boy." He finished with the fastenings and reached for the flashlight he'd set on the entrance table. "Besides, you need to stay here and get things set up. Clean sheets are in the hall closet, you'll find some type of disinfectant under the kitchen sink. I don't have much you can use by way of instruments, but since we can't be picky, anything you can find will have to do. I've already unplugged the meter base here at the house, so when you start up the generator, just plug it into the box there by the barn door and you're set."

Mansfield grabbed him when he moved to open the door. "Vernon, wait!"

Instead of pulling away, Vernon pressed his hand over Mansfield's where it gripped his arm and turned his full focus on the young man. "You're best served here, Travis. I can't do this; we both know it. There now, I said it, but I'll deny it to my grave." He smiled briefly and seemed satisfied when Mansfield answered with a trembling smile of his own. "Use the kitchen table - it's big enough for what we need to do. I'll be back as soon as I can. Where did you get stuck?"

"About half way between here and the Hicks. Right where that bend is that drops off to the left."

"I know where that is. Get things ready. I'll hurry." The door shut and he was gone.

Silence held them captive for several heartbeats, then Mansfield took a deep breath and turned to Tony. "We're going to need the electricity turned on first so I can see what I'm doing. You think you can start the generator?"

"Just tell me where it is."

"Out the backdoor and keep on walking. There's an old barn in the pasture, just a little ways from the house where they used to store hay and farming equipment. Generator's on the right as you go in. Plug it into the box there on the wall by the door; that's the connection to the house that will give us juice. It'll be full of gas, and there's extra supplies lined along the wall for when we need it. Get it cranked, then get back here as quick as you can."

Tony nodded. He grabbed the lantern that sat in the front window and without another word, headed for the barn. Absently, he noted that it was still raining, but that it had slackened to a heavy mist. The sooner the weather cleared up the quicker the high water would recede and the roads would be passable; but that also meant their unwanted company could arrive earlier than expected. That thought hit him right between the eyes, just as he entered the barn. Primitive surgery on McGee, with who knew what for anesthesia, two doctors who seemed to hate each other, and three murderers hunting them. The weight of all those worries abruptly sat as heavy as cinderblocks on his shoulders. Tony braced himself against the wall, fighting through the tidal wave of despair that ambushed him. His stubborn and tenacious nature came to his rescue.

Pushing away from the wall, he set the lantern on the ground to get a better view of the generator. It didn't take long to figure out; it was a lot like cranking a lawn mower. Once he had it started and plugged it into the outlet by the door, he retrieved his lantern and was about to leave when he spotted some electrical lights with attached clamps hanging just above his head. Grabbing three and slinging some orange coils of extension cords onto his shoulders, he hurried back to the house. Dark thoughts haunted him, but he pushed them to the back of his mind, concentrating on the task at hand, instead.

He opened the door to a brightly lit kitchen. Clean white cotton sheets covered the long wooden table. Another smaller table had been set at a right angle to the larger one, and it too was covered with a white sheet. A few instruments had been laid out on the smaller table; Tony chose not to study them too closely.

Mansfield walked in, his arms full of bottles, bandages and silver instruments. "Good, you're back." Carefully, he placed everything on the counter by the sink. Tony noticed two big pots on the stove, steam rising from boiling water. "I need you to get your partner ready." He shifted to a chair, grabbed something and handed it to Tony. "Put these on him."

Tony shook out a pair of gray sweat pants.

"Do you need help getting him to the table?"

"No." He held up the lights. "I found these."

Mansfield turned from what he was doing to see. He looked up at the old wrought iron light fixture hanging above the table then back at the lamps Tony held. "That's perfect. Can you put them up there?"

"Yeah." Dumping everything to the floor, Tony quickly located some wall outlets. "Do you know where I might find a staple gun?"

"Barn."

"Oh. Right." Tony left, running back across the yard to the barn. Old tools and supplies were piled and hanging everywhere. A quick search yielded no stapler. He started looking through drawers and in cabinets. Just as he was about to give up and grab a hammer and some nails, he found what he was looking for: a heavy duty staple gun and a box of deep staples to go with it. He ran back to the house.

Mansfield was busy at the sink, so Tony got to work on the lights. It didn't take long to staple the extension cords up the wall, then string them across to the light fixture. He figured he could come back later and help Vernon repair the holes and repaint his kitchen. Clamping the lights to the old fixture took some work, but he managed to get that done, too. He'd spread out an extra sheet over the table to catch any dirt that drifted down while he worked. Finished, he pulled the extra sheet off and threw it in a corner.

Grabbing the sweats from where he'd draped them over a chair, he went to get McGee.


	10. Chapter 10

_I forgot to post a chapter last night. Sorry! I'll post this now, and another one tonight. Enjoy! And thanks for all the reviews, guys. :-)_

**Part 10**

A couple of floor lamps had been turned on, casting a soft glow through the living room. Tony noticed the fireplace for the first time, and the many pictures lined up along its mantle. Smiling faces frozen in happy moments stared back at him. He didn't take the time to study them. He headed straight for McGee.

Tim lay still, breathing low and steady. Except for the flushed cheeks and creases that crossed his forehead when he frowned in pain, he appeared to be taking an afternoon nap. Worry rose again, unbidden in Tony's chest. He grit his teeth and clamped down on his emotions; now was not the time to show doubt. McGee needed to see confidence in his eyes. Taking a moment to compose himself, Tony bent over the couch and gently pulled the afghan open, exposing Tim's feet and lower legs. Tim's eyes slit open. Tony shifted to sit on the edge of the couch.

"Hey there, McDreamy. It's time to get you ready. I need to move you into the kitchen, so I'm going to slide some sweats on you so you won't scare the ladies."

McGee nodded to show he understood.

Doing his best to give McGee some privacy, Tony gathered the pants at Tim's feet, then slowly worked them up his legs. Instead of removing the covering, he just worked beneath it. When he got far enough, Tim seemed to sense he needed help. He anchored himself against the cushions and lifted his hips high enough for Tony to slide the pants the rest of the way. The effort obviously tired him out; he sank back to the couch, chest pumping with heavy breaths.

Tony allowed him to rest a minute, then flipped the afghan open. He'd already thought about how he was going to do this, picturing each step in his mind. Ironically, he considered that if something like this had happened to them earlier in their years together, he probably would not have been able to carry McGee. When McGee first joined NCIS he'd looked so much like a kid; pudgy and round, as if he hadn't lost his baby fat yet. In the last year or so, he'd focused on his health and his weight, while Tony had stuck to his old habits of eating fast food, staying up late, and skipping the gym when he felt he had more important things to do. As a result, Tim was smaller than Tony now.

"Okay, McGee, I'm going to carry you to the kitchen. I need you to sit up, buddy." He slid his arm beneath McGee, pressing his lips together to keep a sympathetic grunt from escaping when Tim's head lolled weakly back on his neck as he sat up. "That's it, you're doing just fine."

" - liar -"

The airy comment breathed out of McGee's mouth quiet as a whisper, but it brought a smile to Tony's lips. "Put your arms around my neck, Tim." When McGee moved to lift his arms, Tony helped, cupping his elbows and guiding his arms up and around his neck. Each time Tim released a breath, a low groan rumbled through his chest. Tony closed his eyes in sympathy. The uneven breaths hitching through McGee's lungs puffed warm against Tony's throat, affecting him just as deeply as if his friend were screaming with pain.

"Now, lock your arms, McGee. You've got to hold on tight." McGee pulled in close and locked his arms around Tony's neck, though the hold felt weak and unstable to Tony. He wrapped his arm tightly around McGee's back, then scooped his other arm beneath Tim's knees. "I'm going to stand up. Hold on."

In one swift move, he pushed up. A soft cry scratched raw and sharp from McGee. For a moment he clung tight to Tony, then his body weakened and trembling wracked his frame. Walking as evenly and quickly as he could, Tony moved to the kitchen. "A little help here." McGee's grip around his neck loosened. Mansfield joined him just as he reached the table. Tim fell limply away from Tony's chest, but Tony cradled his head and kept him from falling. Together, they managed to shift his body to the center of the table. One arm still embracing McGee, his other hand cupping his skull, Tony lowered him slowly, gently. He touched his face, then withdrew and gave Mansfield room to examine him.

Unexpectedly, Tony's knees wobbled. He grabbed the back of a chair, bracing himself, and quickly sat down. Propping his elbows on his knees, he dropped his head in his hands.

"You all right?"

Tony swallowed a few times and breathed deep before he could answer. "Yeah. Just winded is all. Is he okay?" When Mansfield didn't answer right away, Tony looked up. "Doctor?"

"He's unconscious, Agent DiNozzo."

"Tony." He tried to smile when Mansfield looked his way, but suspected he failed, miserably. "My friends call me Tony." Feeling as if his legs would support him, Tony stood and joined him by the table. If he thought Tim looked thin before, he looked decidedly boney lying on that big kitchen table under harsh light. His flesh rolled over the boney edges of his rib cage as he breathed and scoped down across his concave belly. Tony watched as Mansfield retrieved Vernon's old stethoscope and pressed the silver disk to McGee's lower abdomen. He held still, listening intently.

The front door slammed open, making Tony jump nearly out of his skin. Before he could recover and remember where he'd put the gun, Vernon walked in, his arms loaded with bags and bundles. "Well? You just going to stand there gawking at me, or can you give an old man a hand?"


	11. Chapter 11

**Part 11**

It didn't take Mansfield and Vernon long to sort through the supplies and arrange them where they wanted them. Tony took up a position near Tim's head, ignoring the two quietly bickering doctors. He watched them both snap on gloves. Vernon took a roll of bandages and some first aid tape over to the counter. Tony couldn't see what he was doing with it. Mansfield soaked some cotton balls with rubbing alcohol and began swabbing McGee's abdomen. That woke Tim up. Tony focused his attention on his partner.

"Now you wake up - didn't you know you were supposed to stay asleep through this part?"

Tim tucked his chin to his chest. His eyes followed Mansfield's movements. "Tony -"

"Right here, Tim."

" - Do we really - have to do this here?" He swallowed with some difficulty and rolled his head to look at Tony.

Tony rested his elbows on the table and leaned closer. "Yeah, we do. But you're going to be out through most of this, and you'll wake up in a nice, sterile, clean hospital room."

"What about - what about the men - following us?"

"Don't worry about them. I'm sure they decided to wait out the storm, anyway. And with the two docs here, our odds are even." He grinned but Tim didn't grin with him. Instead, his eyes closed and he grew quiet. After making sure he wouldn't ask any more questions, Tony shifted down the table to Mansfield and asked quietly, "He _will_ be out for this, right?"

Mansfield wouldn't look at him. "He will, eventually."

Vernon joined them with a gauzy cylinder a little larger than a cigar. It was wrapped with tape.

Worried, Tony glanced at it and looked back at Mansfield. "What's that for? And what the hell do you mean, 'he will, eventually'?" He saw a look pass between the two men before Vernon answered.

"I'm putting this in his mouth so he'll have something to bite down on that won't break his teeth when Mansfield makes the incision."

Tony's lips rolled in against his teeth. Anger ignited in his gut. Mansfield must have seen how he was feeling. He grasped Tony's shoulder and pulled him away. "Listen to me, Tony. We have very limited supplies here. I have only a few ccs of morphine; not enough to knock him out. It will give him some distance, but eventually, he's going to pass out from his pain."

Tony's jaw worked as he digested this news. Hands on his hips, he turned so he could see McGee. "Should I tell him?"

"Yes. You're going to have to help hold him down."

Tony dropped his gaze to the floor. "Dammit! I never wanted to put him through this."

"Tony."

He looked up to find Vernon watching him.

"You're doing the right thing. You're saving your friend's life. Right here, right now, under these circumstances, this is the only choice we have. He needs you strong."

Tony nodded. He drew a deep breath and released it, then squared his shoulders, took the gauze cylinder from Vernon, and walked back to Tim. Tim opened his eyes and looked at him. Tony cleared his throat. "Listen to me, Tim. You know we're working with what we have here. This is going to hurt - a lot. But if we don't do this - we've got no choice, Probie. I'm going to be right here, helping you through it. I need you to be strong for me."

Tim's gaze shifted back and forth, searching Tony's face. Moisture gathered in the corners of his eyes. Tony felt as if he were being measured.

"I trust you."

His jaw locked, Tony drew in a deep breath. He looked up and caught Mansfield's eye and nodded. It was time. The doctor moved to Tim's arm and injected him with the small amount of morphine he had, then shifted back to the surgery site. Tony looked down at Tim. "Open your mouth." When Tim obeyed, Tony worked the gauze tube between his teeth. "I want you to bite down on that, and hold onto me." Moving in close, Tony slid one arm beneath Tim's neck and gripped his shoulder with that hand. Immediately, he felt McGee's arms slide around his back. Tim fisted Tony's shirt, holding on tight. Tony pressed closer, scooping his other arm under McGee.

Mansfield's quiet voice was their only warning. Tim stiffened in his arms and buried his face in Tony's chest. Tony leaned into him, pressing him hard against the table. He knew anything he said wouldn't be understood, so he just held him. Tim shuddered and screamed. Warm breath gushed through Tony's shirt, heating his skin. He trembled, wondering if his strength would last. A long, low groan rumbled against his chest, then Tim suddenly melted against him. His head dropped back, loose on his neck. His arms slid from their embrace and thumped to the table. Breath coming in shuttering gasps, Tony gently lowered him to the table.

"Tim?" Fingers quivering with fear, he cupped Tim's jaw.

Vernon appeared beside him and pressed two bloody fingers to Tim's throat. He let out a huge breath and closed his eyes. "He's alive. Just passed out." He pulled a chair close and pushed Tony into it. "Watch him, make sure he keeps breathing."

Eyes glued to Tim's chest, Tony sat still and watched. He had no idea how much time passed before Mansfield gripped his shoulder. "It's over." Tony's eyes closed. He bowed his head. Darkness rushed over him and he tumbled out of the chair. He didn't even feel it as he hit the floor.


	12. Chapter 12

**Part 12**

He blinked his eyes open to a tilted world full of legs and feet. Tony lifted his head and realized he was on the floor. He pushed up and stood, but swayed and braced himself against the table when the room whirled.

"Easy, Tony. Sit down."

He ignored the suggestion but didn't shrug off the supporting hand pressed against his back. "How is he?" His brain finally caught up with his mouth. "And why was I on the floor?"

Vernon patted him and stepped back. "You passed out and were too heavy for us to carry to the couch. We made you as comfortable as possible and let you rest. You needed it."

A quick glance at the floor revealed a makeshift pillow where he'd been laying. His gaze quickly shifted back to McGee. "And Tim?"

A heavy sighed escaped Vernon. "He's still unconscious. Let's hope he stays that way, because once he wakes up, he's going to be in a lot of pain."

Mansfield joined them, drying his hands with a dishtowel decorated with daisies. "I repaired a laceration in his spleen with Dr. Stanley's assistance. There was some bleeding, but it wasn't severe. He's badly bruised, though, and his lower ribs are fractured. That's why he was in so much pain."

Tony pushed the heel of his hand against his forehead. His eyes felt full of sand and grit. "How long was I out?"

"Only a few minutes. Dr. Mansfield and I will keep an eye on McGee; why don't you go rest on the couch for a bit?" _Dr. Mansfield._ _Dr. Stanley. _That was the first time he'd heard them give each other their proper titles. Tony suspected opinions had shifted in the past hour, perhaps as a result of watching each other work in such close proximity.

"Maybe in a minute." When both men started to walk away, Tony called out to them. "Hey." He waited until they looked at him. "Thanks." They both smiled. Mansfield nodded at him, then he and Vernon returned to the task of cleaning up. Tony turned back to Tim. A thick wrapping of gauze and tape hid the surgery site from view. He closed his eyes for a moment and leaned hard against the table, remembering images of McGee's blood spilling out and wetting the white sheets spread across the table. Shaking those thoughts from his head, Tony reached for a chair and pulled it close. He sat, folded his arms on the table, and propped his chin on his arms. Weariness drained him, leaving him hollow and numb. His eyes slowly closed, and he slept.

It seemed no time passed at all, and he opened his eyes. Inky darkness blinded him, no matter how wide he held his eyes open. Silence pressed against his ears and he realized he no longer heard the generator, or rain. He sat up. As his vision adjusted, he saw the outline of a figure near the sink. "Vernon?"

"Tony." Vernon's voice whispered, shivering with fear. "The generator didn't run out of gas - someone turned it off." From the distance a muffled crash sounded somewhere out near the barn. "Michaels and his men are here."


	13. Chapter 13

**Part 13**

_McGee!_ He couldn't leave him here on the table; he'd be too hard to guard, and too easy of a target for Michaels. Tony stood. "Where's Mansfield?"

"Here."

The close voice startled him but Tony recovered quickly. "We have to move Tim out of here; we can't protect him in this open area."

"It's too early - we can't move him."

"We have to." Tony slid his arm beneath Tim's shoulders and carefully sat him up. Tim's head lolled back, arching his neck. Tony pulled in a deep breath when a sudden and fierce instinct to protect his partner nearly overwhelmed him. "Vernon, get your gun. Travis, come help me with Tim." He scooped his other arm beneath Tim's knees and pulled him off the table toward him. McGee's head fell to the side, resting on Tony's shoulder.

Mansfield was ready; as soon as Tim's body cleared the table, he wrapped an arm around Tim's back and beneath his knees, mirroring Tony's stance, creating a chair with their arms. Carefully, they hurried out of the kitchen and into the living room. They couldn't leave him there; he was too near the front door. Tony hesitated.

"Quick, in here!" Vernon gestured for them to follow and led them through a short but wide hall, into a small back bedroom. They laid Tim on the twin bed. Tony checked to make sure the only window in the room was secure, then he and the doctors moved back into the hallway.

Tony reached for the shotgun and Vernon handed it over. "You got any more weapons?"

He nodded. "I've got a pistol in my room upstairs. I'll go get it."

"Dr. Mansfield, go with him. You two lock the door and stay there. Don't open it for anyone but me. No matter what happens, no matter what you hear, don't come back down here - understand?"

Mansfield nodded and turned for the stairs, but Vernon shuffled past Tony back into the living room before Tony could stop him. He returned within a few seconds and handed Tony a small box. "More ammunition."

"Thanks." He waited until the two men disappeared up the stairs, then began assessing the situation. The obvious point of attack was the front door, and one he could do nothing about. There was nothing between McGee and the front door except him, so he simply wouldn't let them past him. The kitchen door, which he couldn't see from his current position, was another entrance, but he'd be able to see them when they left the kitchen, and that room connected directly to the living room, so he was covered there. But had he locked that door?

Hunching low, he checked to make sure the front door was locked, then moved toward the kitchen. Backtracking, he grabbed Vernon's flashlight as an afterthought.

The kitchen doorknob rattled. Tony dove for cover behind the table. The door opened. Tony sprang from his hiding place, snapping on the flashlight and aiming it and his gun at the door simultaneously. The white beam caught and held a man, his rifle pointing at Tony.

"Federal Agent! - Drop your weapon!"

Instead the man lifted his weapon. Tony didn't hesitate. He pulled the trigger, emptying both barrels into the man's chest. The force of the bullets threw the man back out the door. Dropping his flashlight to the table and ripping open the ammo box, Tony grabbed two more shells and reloaded the gun. He snatched the flashlight off the table and hurried toward the open door. The rifle lay there, just out of reach. He'd have to expose himself to grab it, and instinct told him not to do it. Shoulder pressed to the frame, he snapped the light on and aimed it outside. Gunfire blasted immediately, shattering the wood so close to Tony's face that splinters stung his cheek. He dove and rolled away back into the kitchen. Scurrying half on his hands and knees, he headed for the living room. Heart in his throat, he froze when he saw the front door stood open.

Gun propped against his hip, he walked quietly through the hallway. Wet footprints traced a path across the wooden floor into the back bedroom.

"I'm in here with your partner, Mr. Navy Policeman."

His breath left him in a rush. Tony squeezed his eyes shut. For an instant, panic choked him. He pushed it down and pulled strength closer, instead. Keeping his gun aimed at the floor, he walked steadily to the door. He stopped just outside the room and lifted the flashlight to reveal Stuart Michaels standing by the bed, his fingers fisted in the back of McGee's hair. McGee sat partway up, leaning on one hip. Sweat glistened where the light touched his skin. The fingers of one hand were wrapped around Michaels' wrist; his head was bent back at an uncomfortable looking angle. He braced his other arm against his side. Heavy breathing lifted his ribcage.

"Lower that light if you don't want me to put a bullet through him." Michaels' thumb pulled the hammer back; the end of his rifle barrel rested in the hollow of McGee's throat.


	14. Chapter 14

**Part 14**

Tony tilted the light to shine on the floor.

"Good boy. Now, put your gun down, nice and slow."

Bending carefully, slowly, Tony laid the shotgun on the floor, then stood back up.

As easily as he would swat a fly, Michaels reversed his gun and slammed the butt against McGee's temple. McGee's head snapped back and his body twisted and fell to the bed. He didn't move. Tony grimaced but held still. The last thing he needed was to get killed; if he died, who would protect McGee?

"Let's you and me take a walk to the barn, Navy man." Michaels gestured with his gun. Tony lifted his hands and turned around. He froze when another man rushed toward him through the front door. Past him outside, Tony noticed that dawn was beginning to turn the sky gray with light.

"He killed Austin, Stuart."

Surprisingly, he didn't hear anger in Michaels' voice. "I know Justin, I heard it - figured Austin was gone when this one showed up instead of him."

Justin didn't have Michaels' self-control. Rage flashed in his eyes. Before Michaels could stop him, he reared back and slammed his fist across Tony's jaw. Tony stumbled, but kept his feet.

"An eye for an eye." Justin pushed past Tony and stomped into the bedroom.

"Wait!" Alarmed, Tony moved to follow him but stopped when Michaels' rifle dug into his chest. "He's dying anyway, you won't get any satisfaction from him. Listen!" Frantic when Justin pushed McGee to his back, Tony slid forward, despite the painful pressure against his chest. "Take your revenge out on me - _I'm_ the one who shot your friend!" Ignoring Tony, Justin lifted one knee to balance on the bed and lean over McGee. He encircled Tim's throat with both hands; his extra weight pushed the mattress down. McGee woke up with a gasp. He clawed at Justin's knuckles, then wrapped his fingers around his attacker's wrists and pulled to no avail. His back arched off the mattress and his face began turning red.

"Justin! Don't!" The need to help McGee burst through him. Tony grabbed Michaels' gun, pushed it away, and dove for Justin. Throwing his arms around Justin's throat from behind, Tony yanked back and managed to pull him off balance. Justin stumbled backward, pushing them both into the wall. He jerked away and twisted to face Tony. Eyes wide, Tony saw a punch coming and dodged it, then swung his fist and managed to clip Justin hard across the face. Justin went down to his knees.

"Enough!" A gunshot blasted through the room and debris from the ceiling rained down on them.

Blinking, Tony straightened up to find Travis Mansfield and Vernon Stanley in the door, facing down Michaels. Vernon held his pistol, pointing unerringly at Michaels' head.

Undeterred, Michaels swung his rifle around to point at the two doctors. "What are you going to do, old man? Shoot m-?"

Vernon fired and the bullet struck Michaels high in the shoulder. Surprise and shock registered on his face just before his knees buckled and he sank to the floor.

Tony pushed Justin out of the way and reached for Michaels' gun. He kept it trained on Justin. "Didn't I tell you two to stay upstairs?"

"I simple 'thank you' would be nice." Vernon stepped into the room and moved around to cover Michaels. Mansfield crossed the room to check on McGee.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"How's McGee?" Tony's eyes didn't leave Justin, but he moved closer to the bed.

"Not good. We need to get him to a hospital - now."


	15. Chapter 15

**Part 15**

Tony swallowed. "Vernon, can you keep an eye on these two?"

"Yep." He took the rifle that Tony handed him, surprise registering on his face when Tony headed for the door, then reversed his direction and ran back to Michaels. He shoved the man over, ignoring his yelp of pain, and dug quickly through his pockets. When he found what he wanted he stood and rushed out. Vernon yelled after him, "Where are you going?"

"To find Michaels' truck." Tony ran through the house and out the front door. Nothing sat on the road in front, so he detoured and headed around to the barn. It didn't take long to find the dark blue SUV parked beside the building. Tony used the key to gain entry and pulled himself behind the wheel. A hand radio lay on the seat; he filed that information away for later. Not taking the time to admire the obviously fully loaded vehicle, he started the engine and drove quickly to the front. Leaving the engine running, Tony jumped out of the car and hurried back into the house.

"Get McGee ready - we're heading for the hospital."

From where he knelt beside Michaels, Mansfield nodded that he understood, finished securing the bandage against Michaels' shoulder, and stood to leave the room. "I'll get what we need."

Vernon used the rifle to gesture at Michaels and Justin. "What do you want to do with these two?"

"We're leaving them here. You got any rope?"

A grin spread across Vernon's face. He handed the rifle back to Tony. "In the barn. I'll be right back."

As he left, Tony walked across to the bed. McGee lay still, his eyes closed. The wrappings around his torso were stained red. Painful looking welts ringed his throat. Tony reached out and lightly brushed the back of his fingers across McGee's bruised cheek. Anger started a slow boil in his stomach.

"You can't just tie us up and leave us here."

Pulling back the rifle's hammer, satisfied with loud click it made in the sudden quiet, Tony turned to face Michaels. "You're under arrest, Stuart Michaels, for brutally attacking and attempting to murder a Federal Agent, and for the suspected murder of Petty Officer Jefferson. I strongly suggest you remain silent, or I may be forced to do something we'll both regret." His nose flared as he pressed his lips together and sent every bit of anger and bitterness churning in his gut to Michaels. He took a step closer. His voice grew quiet, hissing from his clenched jaw. "Or maybe you should say something. That way, I'll have an excuse to shoot you."

Tony watched Michaels' throat work as he swallowed hard. His eyes were round and wide, watching him. He was scared. Good.

Mansfield returned with gauze and tape. His stethoscope hung around the back of his neck. He sat carefully on the edge of the bed and tended to McGee. Vernon came back with the rope. Tony chose to ignore his giddy grin as the older man uncoiled some of the length and handed it to him. Together, they tied Justin's feet, then his wrists behind his back, then looped his feet and wrists together, giving him the appearance of a trussed up calf, ready for branding. Ignoring Michaels' protests of pain and discomfort, he received the same treatment.

They both stood. Tony crossed to the bed while Vernon left the room. A few seconds later, he returned with his arms full of pillows and quilts. "I'll load this up and be right back."

Tony didn't answer, watching silently as Mansfield listened to McGee's heartbeat. He finished and removed the stethoscope. "We're ready."

Tony gripped his shoulder as he stood. "I'll drive."

"No, I'll drive." Vernon returned and continued when Tony opened his mouth to protest. "I know these roads better than you - and you need to be in the back, holding McGee so Dr. Mansfield can keep an eye on him."

Tony nodded. "Okay. Think you can back the SUV up to the gate?"

"I'll do better than that."

Confused when Vernon offered no other explanation, Tony let him go and turned back when Mansfield said, "We can lift him like we did before."

"No, I'll carry him this time. Here -" He handed the doctor the rifle before he could argue. Mansfield walked out. Tony leaned over, sliding his arms beneath McGee's shoulders and knees. He stood slowly, carefully, groaning a little under the weight, but determined to carry Tim. He lifted his chin, tucking Tim's head against his chest, then turned to leave.

A wooden crash sounded in the front yard. Alarmed, Tony quickened his pace, then froze when he reached the porch, shocked with the sight. Vernon had backed over his front fence, flattening it as he drove in reverse to the house. The older man got out and hastened to open the door. He frowned when he saw Tony's expression.

"Been meaning to take that old thing down, anyway."

Grinning, Tony waited until Vernon had the backdoor opened, then carefully began sliding Tim in. Mansfield jumped in to help. He caught Tim and pulled him gently, settling him into the nest of quilts on the floor. Once they were in, Vernon shut the door and scurried to get behind the wheel. He hit the gas, and they were off. Tony heard Vernon using the radio to call for help, asking that someone inform the hospital they were on their way.

Tony shifted around and managed to settle against the back of the seats, stretched out beside McGee. He held onto Tim's shoulders, doing his best to keep him still.

Mansfield pressed the stethoscope against Tim's chest, After a moment he glanced at Tony, his face grim. "Better tell him to hurry."


	16. Chapter 16

**Part 16**

Gibbs barely slowed as he turned into the Sutton Town's General Hospital parking lot. It was a small building with few parking areas. He hit the brakes and felt the rear end of the car slide a little as he came to an abrupt stop near the Emergency Room entrance. Switching to park, taking the keys and rushing out of the vehicle, he hurried through the double glass doors. Heading for the nurse he saw behind a counter, he detoured instead and bee-lined to a small grouping of chairs tucked away in a back corner of the room. Tony sat slumped down in his chair, legs stretched out in front of him, his arm braced and his hand pressed against his eyes.

Gibbs grabbed his shoulder. "Tony."

Startled, DiNozzo sat up. He glanced up, recognized Gibbs, and stood. "Boss."

"Where's McGee?"

"They took him, airlifted to Bethesda." He crossed his arms tight across his chest. "They wouldn't let me go - Dr. Stanley and Dr. Mansfield went with him, and there wasn't room."

Gibbs studied him, noting the fine lines around his eyes that weren't normally there. "You all right?"

Tony nodded, his lips tight. "I'm finished here; let's go."

Gibbs tapped him on the shoulder, leaving his hand there briefly as they moved toward the door. They got into the car and drove away. Gibbs waited, figuring Tony would start from the beginning and regale him with the continuing adventures of Tony DiNozzo and Timothy McGee. But instead, Tony buckled his seat belt, settled back, and turned his head away. Surprised, Gibbs kept quiet, deciding to give Tony time to process. He'd said very little on the phone when he'd called. Gibbs had gotten a little more information from the local and state police, who'd been called to pick up the two men Tony had left at the house where he and McGee had taken shelter. But the unanswered questions still far outweighed the answered ones. They had a little over four hours to drive; he could wait.

Deep breathing signaled Tony was asleep. When he could look away from the road, Gibbs studied the younger man's profile. Even unconscious, creases of worry and stress showed on Tony's face. For the second time that day, apprehension twisted his gut. Getting Tony's phone call had sent his heart racing until he'd learned both of his agents were alive, even though Tony hinted that McGee had been seriously injured. On the drive to Sutton Town, he'd had time to make several calls, garnering more details about McGee and what had happened. But second hand accounts really didn't interest him; he wanted to hear what Tony had to say. For now, it seemed, that would have to wait. Gibbs kept his eyes on the road, anxious to get to Bethesda and find out exactly what these two had been through. Beside him, Tony sank deeper into his dreams.

_He opened his eyes to darkness and couldn't tell where he was. The blackness changed into gray, and he could see a hallway in front of him. He walked barefoot through the passage. Where were his shoes? Wet footprints traced a dark path across the wooden floor into the back bedroom. He stopped when he accidentally slid through the liquid and red painted his toes. Blood. McGee's blood._

"_I'm in here with your partner, Mr. Navy Policeman."_

_His breath left him in a rush. Tony squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't do this again. For an instant, panic choked him. Breath coming in shuddering gasps through his chest, he walked steadily to the door. Stuart Michaels stood beside the bed, his fingers twisted in the back of McGee's hair. McGee sat partway up, leaning on one hip. Sweat glistened where the light touched his skin. A gash down the length of the front of his belly leaked blood, dark and thick down his body. He gripped Michaels' wrist with one hand and reached for Tony with the other. Heavy breathing lifted his ribcage._

"_Watch me put a bullet through him." Michaels' thumb pulled the hammer back; the end of his rifle barrel rested in the hollow of McGee's throat. Tony shut his eyes and flinched violently when the gunshot reverberated through the room. He couldn't remember opening his eyes, but then Michaels was in front of him, the bloody end of his rifle pressed against his throat. "Now it's your turn." He yelled just as Michaels pulled the trigger._

A loud gasp was his only warning. Tony sat up abruptly with a yell. Alarmed, Gibbs threw an arm out and caught him, palm pressed to his chest. Tony slumped back, breathing heavy, but obviously awake.

"You okay?"

Propping his elbow on the door, Tony nodded and rested his head in his hand. He rubbed gingerly at his eyes. Gibbs gave him a few minutes to recover.

"When's the last time you ate?"

Sighing heavily, sitting back and resting his head back, Tony closed his eyes. "I don't remember."

"Hungry?"

"No."

The tone bothered Gibbs more than the short answer. He sounded defeated. He watched Tony lift one hand and rub at his temple.

"Headache?"

"Yeah."

There was nothing he could do about that, so Gibbs kept quiet. Unusual silence filled the car. Uncomfortable with this new side to Tony, Gibbs searched for something to say. Mouth open, he turned to speak, but discovered his senior agent had fallen back to sleep. Pressing his lips together, Gibbs turned his attention to his driving. Silence stretched long into the drive.

A few hours later, he drove into Bethesda's parking area and turned the car off. Probably sensing the change in movement, Tony woke and sat up. "Where are we?"

"Bethesda."

Without another word, Tony opened his door and got out. Gibbs followed. He had to scramble to catch up. "Tony! Slow down!"

Tony didn't seem to be aware of his presence.

"Tony!"

He stopped and turned, waiting for Gibbs to catch up, then quickly started back for the hospital. Gibbs reached for his arm and pulled him to a stop. Tony jerked from his grasp, then seemed to realize what he'd done. He propped his hands on his hips and bowed his head, chest pumping as if he'd just run a mile. "I'm sorry -"

"Don't -" Holding one hand up, Gibbs waited until Tony looked at him - "apologize."

Tony dropped his arms to his sides and looked away.

"Talk to me. What's going on with you?"

His shoulders lifted in a brief shrug, then Tony threw his hands up with a raw sound of frustration. His voice rose dangerously close to hysteria. "My partner – my _friend_ may be dying. I'm just a little upset here, Gibbs. What the _hell_ do you expect from me?" His rant ended with him facing Gibbs. Breath gasping, eyes filling, lips trembling, he closed his eyes and shook his head. "I should have been able to save him," he whispered.

Gibbs moved close. He reached and grasped Tony's shoulder. Tense muscles rolled beneath his grip. "You did."

Tony sucked in a harsh, shuddering breath. He blinked rapidly and pulled away. Gibbs let him go, giving him time to pull his emotions back into control. After a moment, he walked slowly by Tony, thumping him gently on the back.

"Let's go check on Tim." He kept going, smiling softly to himself when he heard Tony's steps catch up with him. Their pace quickened and they hurried into the hospital.


	17. Chapter 17

**Part 17**

Despite the various sounds down the hall from the ER, silence sat heavy in the small waiting room. Gibbs sat by the window, looking through the blinds as the day darkened into night. Tony stood at a wall, studying a poster explaining the importance of hand washing.

"You ready to tell me what happened?"

Gibbs' voice was quiet, but Tony still flinched. Grabbing the back of a chair, he walked around it and sat down heavily. Across the room, Gibbs leaned forward to listen, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Petty Officer Jefferson was murdered by some locals - the ones the state police told you about. They killed him over some stupid jealousy thing - pointless."

"Why didn't you arrest them before leaving Sutton Town?"

Tony shook his head. "We didn't have enough evidence. Tim figured he could do some digging once we got back to the office. We had a lead on some purchases that would link Michaels to the weapons used in the murder."

"So you started back to Washington."

"We had a blowout, right over some little bridge that had no safety railing, of course. The car flipped; ended up wrapped around a tree. I don't remember any of it; all I remember is waking up on the ground. McGee pulled me clear of the wreck."

Gibbs waited as Tony pushed himself to his feet and stepped back to the poster on the wall. He stared at it.

"When did you know how badly he was hurt?"

Tony's lips rolled in against his teeth. He turned to lean against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "Not until later. He wouldn't tell me he was hurt - probably figured it would only slow us down, or something stupid like that." Tony laughed, but it sounded forced. "If it had been me I would have been announcing to anyone who would listen all about my woes and troubles. But not Probie -" He shook his head and looked at the floor. "Not McGee."

Gibbs pushed up and moved to stand across from him. "How'd you find the doctors?"

"By accident, if you can believe that. Vernon - Dr. Stanley, is retired, though I have the feeling the town's going to ask him to hang his shingle back up. Dr. Mansfield is the one who operated on McGee."

"Operated?"

Something in his voice must have clued Tony into the fact that he'd managed to leave this little detail out. He glanced at Gibbs. "Operated."

"Where?"

"Vernon's house."

Gibbs' eyebrows lifted. "His _house_? What was a retired doctor doing with surgical equipment in his house?"

Tony's jaw worked as he grit his teeth. "He didn't have any, not really. We had to work with what we had."

Gibbs took a step closer. His voice grew quieter. "What did he use for anesthesia?"

Tony's eyes darted up to look at Gibbs. His nose flared as he drew in a deep breath. Barely loud enough to hear, he said, "Me; I held him down while they cut him open."

Gibbs lifted a hand to run through his hair. He clasped the back of his neck. After a minute, he turned away, walked back to his chair, and sat down with a heavy sigh. "Damn."

Tony sat down, too.

A woman dressed in scrubs entered the area. Gibbs and Tony stood to meet her. "I'm Dr. Leslie. Are you Agent Gibbs?" Gibbs offered his hand and she shook it. "Agent McGee came through surgery fine. We've got him on massive dosages of antibiotics to counter some infection that's beginning to develop, but considering what he's been through, I've very satisfied with his progress. I'd like to discuss details with his family; are they here?"

"They're out of the country, I'm afraid. We'll be taking care of him until they return."

She nodded. "All right. He's in recovery and he'll stay there until he's stable. After that he'll be moved to ICU for a couple of days, at least for observation. I expect he'll have a full recovery, barring any complications."

Tony leaned closer. "Complications?"

She looked at him and gave him a tight smile. "Peritonitis. We'll keep a close eye on him, I promise." She nodded at them, an obvious dismissal. "He won't be awake or able to see visitors for several hours. Why don't you gentlemen go home and get some sleep - you both look like you could use some. You'll want to be strong and well rested when he wakes up, since his family isn't here. We'll call if anything develops." With another smile, she turned and walked away.

"Come on, Tony. You can have the couch." Snagging Tony's elbow, Gibbs pulled him through the room. Neither said much as they drove home.


	18. Chapter 18

**Part 18**

Excruciating agony gnawed and bored through him, scooping him out and leaving him empty of everything but mind-numbing pain. He arched, his body bowing hard until his spine creaked with strain, then curled in tight, whimpering like a child. Writhing, convulsing, rolling, he tried to escape.

Memory was a chain of linked events scrolling through his mind. Time bent and stretched, streaming images back and forth, focusing in and out. Layer after layer of remembered torment wrapped around him, until he couldn't break through, couldn't speak. He remembered dropping to his knees, rain drenched, his clothes clinging to his skin. Arms embraced him, holding him up. A heartbeat thumped beneath his cheek and he whispered tremulous words against warm skin. He remembered lying stretched out with someone pressed against him, holding him down. He wanted to escape, but couldn't. Piercing agony thrust through his body and his breath left him in a rush. He remembered darkness shielding him for a time, then waking up to more pain, his body hurting, pulled tight, a cold touch against the hollow of his throat. Something hard and unyielding exploded against his head, and inky blackness pulled him down again. He floated on the edge of consciousness, aware of bright agony stabbing through his abdomen, wanting to curl in and hold it, press against it, but being unable to do anything.

The tethers between soul and body lengthened, sending him floating high above his consciousness. Pain and fear grew distant, less real, less intense. He existed in the thrumming of his heartbeat. Soft mutterings whispered against his ear. Darkness slit open, revealing gray-edged images. Movement, touches and voices pulled at him, drawing him into wakefulness. His throat felt full and breath pumped in and out of his lungs in a steady rhythm that did not belong to him. Warm sleepiness spread through his body, carrying him softly back into dreams.

After awhile, sounds called to him again, dipping deep and pulling him out of the well he'd tumbled down. He opened his eyes and took a deep breath. His own breathing felt familiar rushing in and out of his lungs. Faces coalesced above him. Tony. Gibbs. He saw worry on their faces and struggled to speak, wanting to reassure them. Strength bled out of him until his eyelids were too heavy to hold open. Darkness welcomed him back.

He opened his eyes. Sunlight sparkled like tiny diamonds caught between the cracks of closed blinds. The lighting in the room was muted. Tony sat slumped in a chair near the bed, his chin tucked against his chest, his head tilted to the side at an uncomfortable looking angle. His hair stood up in unruly spikes. Charcoal gray shadows smudged beneath his closed eyes, suggesting long hours of waiting and sleepless nights. A smile tugged at the corners of McGee's lips.

"McGee." The whisper turned his head and he found Gibbs on the opposite side of the bed.

McGee's smile strengthened. He closed his eyes and opened them, feeling as if he were moving in slow motion. He licked his lips and swallowed. Gibbs reached out of his field of vision and a cup appeared in his hand. He dipped into it with two fingers and offered McGee a small piece of ice. McGee opened his mouth. The ice slipped inside and began melting immediately against his tongue. He swallowed again and attempted to speak.

"Thanks." His voice sounded raw and weak, even to his own ears.

Gibbs' eyes roamed over his face, as if he were studying him. He leaned closer and cupped McGee's cheek. McGee closed his eyes, sinking into the feeling of protection that opened in his chest and spread through him. Just before consciousness pulled away and set him adrift again, warm breath tickled his ear as he heard Gibbs whisper, "Welcome back, son."


	19. Chapter 19

_I want to thank all the readers for the wonderful reviews. I'm overwhelmed by your positive responses! You can't imagine how much your feedback means to me. It encourages me to keep writing. :-) Thank you, thank you, thank you! And stay tuned...I've already started on another H/C story._

**Part 19**

Tony squinted as bright afternoon sunlight flashed in rapid patterns like Morse code through his car window. He shifted, running through practice conversations in his head, searching for the best way to broach the subject. Trees passed by in a blur.

"At least it's not raining."

He grinned and waited to see what McGee would say. Tim turned and looked at him, gave an answering grin, and turned back to the window.

_So much for that._

The trip hadn't been unpleasant, just a little - uncomfortable. In the weeks following McGee's surgery, Tony had adjusted his schedule to spend as much time as he could with his friend; attending follow up visits with him, sitting and watching movies at his apartment, going out to eat. They'd discussed the weather, office politics, the new girl in accounting, Abby's latest outfit - anything but the common thing they shared and _needed_ to talk about. Tony had tried; he'd brought it up several times, but Tim always changed the subject, or became very quiet and wouldn't respond. Not willing to push it, Tony pretended it hadn't been brought up and moved on to something else.

Tony wasn't normally the sharing type. He didn't know why he had this urge, this profound need to talk about what they'd been through and how it had affected him. He would have expected Tim to be the one to come to _him_ with the need to sort through some things. This role-reversal unnerved him; made him feel he had a huge disadvantage in whatever game they were playing.

Many of Tony's dreams consisted of running through endless trees while buckets of rain poured from heaven, keeping him drenched to the bone. Shadowy figures followed close behind, gripping massive, pointed weapons. Sometimes McGee was with him, sometimes he wasn't. Sometimes he was holding McGee, pulling him, dragging him - and sometimes he found himself held in McGee's arms and he couldn't use his legs or feet.

He'd dreamed one night of the operation. He'd woken with a gasp, his clothes clinging to his sweaty body. He couldn't remember anything but fear and horror, and a frighteningly real sense of loss. He'd pulled on a pair of jeans and driven to the hospital that night. Sneaking into McGee's room had been easy in the quiet stillness of early morning. He'd stood by the bed, watching McGee breathe, measuring the steady rise and fall of his chest for nearly an hour. It took that long to banish the raw pain that the dream had opened up inside him.

"Tony?"

Something in McGee's voice gave Tony the impression he'd said his name more than once. Taking in a deep breath, he brought his thoughts back to the present.

"Yeah?"

"What were you thinking of?"

Tony shrugged. "Food. You hungry?" The realization that he'd just received the opening he'd been struggling to find for the past couple of hours made him shake his head and sigh quietly. "No, that's not what I was thinking of. I was remembering what happened, McGee."

"Wait! Pull over!" McGee pressed against his own window, his hand grabbing for the door handle.

Thinking he'd just driven McGee to the brink of madness, and wondering how he was going to deal with this, Tony jerked the wheel and skidded to a stop on the side of the road. Before he could turn off the engine, McGee was out of the car. Alarmed, Tony cut the ignition and followed.

McGee had moved to the loose gravel spread across the road's shoulder. He stood looking down, his face unreadable. When Tony joined him, he spoke. "This is where we went off. This is where it all started."

Shocked, Tony looked down into the ravine. They stood like that for several minutes, shoulder to shoulder, each lost in their own thoughts.

"I don't even remember the crash." From the corner of his eye, Tony saw McGee turn and look at him. "The last thing I remember is the café where we ate. My next memory is waking up on the ground with you leaning over me. You looked so -" he turned to McGee, "-worried."

"You were hurt. There was blood on your head." Tim glanced up at Tony's forehead.

Tony reached to touch the healing scar, then let his hand fall back to his side. "Why didn't you tell me how badly you were hurt, Tim?"

Tim's eyes darted back to the ravine. "I didn't know how serious it was."

"But you acted like you weren't hurt at all. If you would have told me -"

"What?" Tim's eyes were back on him. Tony struggled not to squirm under that intense focus. "What would you have done, Tony? Knowing or not knowing - what difference would it have made? We still needed to find help, and we still would have had to run from Michaels and his men. Knowing I had a torn spleen would have just slowed us down; it would have made you focus on me, instead of running."

Tony held his gaze. "You should have told me."

"Why? So you could worry more while we ran?" A quirky smile lifted one corner of McGee's lips. He turned to go back to the car, but Tony stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Would you let me say this, please?"

McGee shifted to keep going, but stopped when Tony's grip tightened. His shoulders lifted in a heavy sigh. "Tony."

"I've tried to tell you while you were still in the hospital, but you always seemed to fall asleep. I figured it would come up later, when we were at your apartment, or driving back from one of your appointments. You never wanted to talk about it."

Tim shrugged and looked away. His eyes scanned the trees. "I didn't want to. Everything was still so fresh in my memory, and it seemed like when I thought about it, it would bring it all back to me." He dropped his gaze to the ground. "I dreamed about it a lot, but as bad as it was, the dreams are always worse."

Tony let him go and bent to sit on the ground. He braced his forearms against his knees and clasped his hands together. After a second, Tim joined him. Time seemed to stop for them, turning the sun to warm their backs, bending trees to shade them, prompting birds to sing prettily from the branches.

"I dream about it, too."

"You do?"

The surprise in Tim's voice brought a smile to Tony's lips. "Yeah, I do. I know you were in a lot of pain, but you were unconscious through most of it. It's weird - it's not conversations or actions I remember the most - it's sensations."

"What do you mean?"

"I - I remember how the sound of rain drowned everything out, but I could still feel the vibrations of your moans against my side."

A soft sound escaped McGee. Tony didn't look at him, afraid of losing his courage to continue.

"I remember a lot of things, McGee. Some of them are fading away, but some things I just can't forget, even though I want to. I can't forget straining to hold you down, while you fought to escape what must have been mind-blowing agony when Dr. Mansfield cut into you." He closed his eyes and bowed his head. "When I close my eyes I still feel your fingers fisting into the back of my shirt as you hung on to me." A hand rested against his back, warming his skin. He lifted his head and looked to find Tim watching him, moisture gathering in his eyes.

"You did what you had to do to save my life, Tony. That's what I remember, and that's what I won't forget, for as long as I live." He smiled and patted Tony's back. "And this is how it ends -" he spread his arms wide, including both of them and their surroundings "-we both made it, and we're both alive and healthy." He leaned closer. "That's what you need to remember."

Silence sat like a companion between them. Neither spoke, but the awkward tension that had been there before, was gone. Several minutes later, Tony slapped his knees. "Well, guess we better hit the road again." He stood and offered a hand to Tim.

McGee stood, but when Tony tried to let go, he pulled him close for a quick hug. Surprisingly, Tony returned it. They got back in the car and drove away.

Driving up to the house, Tony grinned when he noticed a pile of broken wood near the front porch. "Think he'll make us build him a new fence, too?"

When the car stopped, Tim got out, then opened the back door to gather up the patching and painting supplies. "I thought you said he'd been planning to take that old thing down, anyway."

Tony laughed. "You know how old guys are - they develop some kind of old man prerogative, or something."

The front door opened and Vernon stepped out to greet them. "There you are! Thought you said you'd be here by noon. You young whippersnappers are all the same these days; lollygagging like you got all day and no one's waiting on you. Well, come on! Kitchen's not going to repaint itself, you know!"

Tony and McGee exchanged a smile. Arms loaded with supplies, they walked into the house and shut the door behind them.

**The End**


End file.
